


Hold You Close

by brokenlittleboy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Barebacking, Bottom Sam, Consensual Somnophilia, Dreams and Nightmares, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), Season/Series 15, Sleepy Cuddles, Sleepy Sex, Somnophilia, Spooning, Top Dean Winchester, Top Dean Winchester/Bottom Sam Winchester, Uncontrolled Sam Worship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-26
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:53:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22913530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokenlittleboy/pseuds/brokenlittleboy
Summary: Sam's nightmares of Chuck's possible awful endings are getting worse. Dean comes up with an unexpected way to give Sam a better night's rest.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 16
Kudos: 264





	Hold You Close

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted to post something in February, and I love all the wincesty possibilities from early s15, so here you go!
> 
> I imagine it's set sometime after Atomic Monsters.

More and more these days, it’s Dean who wakes before Sam.

It isn’t that Sam is any less of an early bird weirdo or that Dean hates mornings any less.

No, it’s Chuck’s fucking fault.

Dean can’t hear the birds singing through the thick bunker walls, but he imagines he wakes alongside them.

The room is dim, a thin spear of light coming in from the attached bathroom.

Dean turns onto his side. Sam is curled up real small on his side of the bed, sheets around his waist. He’s got a hand pressed against his face and he’s drooling onto it. 

Dean loves the bunker, finds it home, but he wants to be free to leave it someday, too. To wake up to Sam coated in golden morning sun, to see what Sam’s hair looks like all lit up like chocolate and honey.

To see the sparkle in Sam’s multicolored eyes.

Things aren’t bad right now, but Dean’s not holding his breath.

Ever since Sam’s nightmare/visions about Chuck’s possible endings started, Dean has been on guard duty, always ready to wake Sam, to calm him down, to reassure him it’s not real.

Sam isn’t open about it, but Dean can still tell the dreams are getting more violent, more disturbing. Sometimes Sam looks at him with a mix of gratitude and sadness that makes Dean want to kill something. Other times Sam blanches at the sight of meat and Dean doesn’t bring it up.

Just like clockwork, Dean hears Sam’s breath hitch, watches Sam’s shoulders stiffen and curl further inward.

Dean is an expert at making Sam feel better. Jostling him awake into a confusing consciousness is counterproductive. Being too aggressive gets Dean a punch to the face. Too soft, and Sam feels unraveled, and he’s distant the rest of the day.

Dean has developed a… tactic to deal with Sam’s nightmares, to bring Sam out of it without any harmful side effects.

It’s nontraditional, but it’s been working for him so far, and he enjoys it.

Dean’s heart aches at the pull in Sam’s brow. Like a master thief descending into the diamond vault, he pulls the sheets down, and shrugs out of his boxers, letting his cock free. It’s already half hard, a Pavlovian response to Sam’s whimpers that Dean doesn’t want to think about too much.

Dean shuffles up behind Sam, a hair’s width away from spooning him. Sam makes a pained grunt and Dean runs a hand up and down Sam’s side. He lets his hand slip under Sam’s shirt and boxers, rubbing pesky clothes away from Sam’s middle, revealing a tantalizing strip of skin and curve and bone and scars.

Dean knows this territory very well.

Sam mutters something under his breath, a plea of some kind, and Dean murmurs, “hey. Shh. You’re fine.” He rubs Sam some more, succeeding in pulling Sam’s boxers down, just a little.

A little is enough.

Dean keeps touching Sam, firm and grounding, scooting closer, murmuring more things, watching the tension ease away from Sam’s frame. He hasn’t been eating well. He’s all lank.

He’s still beautiful.

Dean hums to himself, near silent, as he lubes up his hand. He rubs Sam’s ass, his fingers getting closer and closer to Sam’s hole until he can press one digit in, just barely.

Sam makes a “hmm” noise, but his brow is unfurrowed now, his mouth hanging open. That’s a good sign. Dean would stop if it weren’t.

“You’re fine, hush,” Dean mumbles, and he rubs more warmth into Sam’s muscles as he slowly works Sam open. 

This part takes some time, but Dean doesn’t mind, watching Sam’s face, watching his eyelashes flutter. Dean feels like some kind of venerated artisan when he watches Sam melt under his touches, transforming from a curled up ball to a sprawled out figure whose tan skin stretches out for miles.

Dean gets Sam open. Dean’s cock has been twitching pretty persistently now, and he calms it down with one rough tug before pushing inch by inch into Sam. It’s a tight fit, but not too tight--they did do this last night.

Dean shuffles up behind Sam, fully spooning him, and gives his hips a test wriggle. Sam makes an “ah,” noise, and Dean reaches forward to pull Sam’s hard cock out of his boxers.

Dean lazily fucks Sam at the same time he jerks him off. Sam goes loose and relaxed, and Dean knows before Sam turns his head to blink sleepily up at Dean that Sam is awake.

Sam glares at him, but there’s no heat. “A warning?”

Dean fucks a little deeper, irons out the line on Sam’s forehead. “What’d you dream about?”

Sam thinks for a moment, tries to hold back a hitched moan. “Dunno.”

Dean can’t help a smug fucking smile. Hell yeah. “Sure it didn’t have to do with me?”

Dean hits that good spot, and Sam practically purrs, stretching out. “Hmm. Maybe.”

Dean chuckles. He is perfectly content, sated, happy, the whole nine. Sam goes easily when Dean rolls him onto his back. Dean slots himself between Sam’s legs and fucks him in earnest, saying things with his body he’s too chickenshit to say with his mouth.

Sam holds him tight and kisses him senseless, their morning breaths and spit mixing. 

They smell like sleep and they look like crap, but somehow that makes it even more perfect.

Dean knows without looking that Sam’s toes curl hard when he comes, and Dean strokes him through it. Sam’s hole clenches repeatedly as he rides his way through his orgasm, and, as usual, it throws Dean over the brink, too. He bites Sam’s shoulder, pumping into him, and moans. He drops onto Sam when he’s finished, and they both get their breathing under control.

Sam slaps at Dean’s back. “Okay, gerroff me,” he grunts.

Dean’s feeling charitable, so he goes, rolling onto his back beside Sam. They lay there in silence.

Sam curls a pinkie around one of Dean’s. “Thanks.”

The ache in Dean’s heart is back. “No problem,” he says, sitting up and stretching. He can feel Sam’s soft eyes on him. “Want breakfast?”

“Sure.”

Dean gets up, leaving Sam behind, but Sam’s love follows after, trailing him throughout the day, reminding him of what they have while they’re apart.

They may be weird as shit, but the world is fucking ending, who cares. Dean’s world has narrowed down considerably over the years and all he wants anymore is to give Sam orgasms and a vegetable garden.

He watches Sam moan in pleasure around the omelette Dean made him and thinks, as long as they get close to that, as long as they try, no matter how it ends, then it will all be worth it.

The End

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you guys so much for reading! I've signed up for the J2BigBang and will sign up for Springfling and Summergen, so looking forward to sharing some more stuff with y'all!
> 
> <3


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